


The Details Don't Matter

by i_know_its_0ver



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, One Shot, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 19:18:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15103238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_know_its_0ver/pseuds/i_know_its_0ver
Summary: “Dean, what do you think you’d be doing right now if things were different? If we weren’t...us.”





	The Details Don't Matter

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short fic I wrote a while back and never published. The Supernatural fandom is full of so much amazing fic that I felt intimidated. I found it while going through my gdrive today and thought, fuck it. So here you have it, my first active participation in SPN fandom.
> 
> It's definitely gen, just some feels about Sam and Dean and their ridiculous bond, which would carry over into any alternate universe/timeline.

“Dean, what do you think you’d be doing right now if things were different? If we weren’t...us.” 

Sam was reclined on yet another motel bed, indistinguishable from the last 100 rundown motel beds with identical threadbare sheets and scratchy duvets in varying shades of brown. Dean was seated at yet another wobbly two-seater motel table, cramming his mouth full of the kind of cheap burgers you could get 2 for a buck from chains all across the country. It was a weird kind of fucked up continuity in their chaotic lives. Every few days a new case, a new nightmare, but the same shitty motel rooms, the same shitty food. Guess there’s something to be said for routine. 

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, his mouth still half full of chewed hamburger. Always so charming. “Like, if I could be Elvis or something?” 

“Not like that, just, if we’d grown up, you know...normal. If we’d stayed in one place and gone to the same school and actually made friends. Like, normal people who think monsters only exist in crappy B-movie horror plots. If we weren’t…”

“Awesome?” Dean filled in, still managing a shit eating grin with his cheeks stuffed full like a chipmunk. He waggled his eyebrows, the way he did when he thought he’d been particularly clever and wanted Sam to acknowledge his wit. Sam just huffed a half-annoyed laugh and rolled his eyes. 

Dean took a swig of his beer and washed down the last bite of his burger. Sam expected more jokes, more casual dismissal, and was already reaching for the TV remote, ready to forget the whole thing. But Dean grabbed another beer and sat back in his chair, that look on his face that said he was humoring his little brother but only because he was feeling magnanimous. 

“I don’t know, Sam. I don’t know what we’d be doing if we weren’t hunters, if things had been different. We’d probably have some lame 9-to-5 jobs like every other jackass, be stuck paying bills and mowing the lawn on the weekend and pretending to be happy.” 

Sam stayed quiet, rolling his near-empty beer bottle around in his hands. That didn’t sound too far off from what he’d once dreamt for himself; being a lawyer, marrying Jess, buying a house and raising a couple kids. He’d have steady hours, and only a small group of people to protect, rather than the whole damn world. The only monsters he’d face would be the criminals he’d prosecute in the courtroom, not that they couldn’t be just as fucking scary. But even in that life he’d hoped to live, he’d still have known what was out there, the things that go bump in the night. Would he have been happy, living his insulated life and trying to forget?

Dean seemed to read this thoughts in that uncanny way that he’d always been able to, from the time Sam was an infant. “You would have been happy, being a lawyer?” he asked, his face skeptical but his tone neutral. 

“I don’t know,” Sam answered honestly, letting his doubts rush out with a sigh. “I always told myself that it was enough like hunting, that I’d still be doing good in the world. I’m not sure if that was just a way to make myself feel better.” 

“Eh, I can’t really imagine any version of our lives where you’re not the goody-goody do-gooder type,” Dean said, shaking his head in mock judgement. But there was fondness and pride in his voice which made Sam duck his head and take the last half swig of his lukewarm beer just to hide his small smile. Sam knew that as much as Dean had lectured him about abandoning their mission and ‘running away to college’ that he’d also been proud. He may never admit it out loud except in sarcastic or backhanded compliments, but it was enough for Sam just to know. 

“I could see you as a mechanic, maybe, something with your hands,” Sam said, steering the conversation to more comfortable ground. “Definitely none of that 9-to-5 crap.”

“Damn right,” Dean muttered, shuddering in mock horror. “Fixing up classic cars wouldn’t be too bad. Could still take them out on the road for the occasional road trip, see the sights, meet the women…” He trailed off with the kind of happy, far-off smile that meant he was replaying the memories of some of those women.

It made sense, Dean would always have that wanderlust in any universe. Sam had always wanted permanence and stability, but Dean craved that freedom. Sam could tolerate it as long as he had Dean with him, because in this life Dean was the closest thing he’d ever had to a home. But what if things were different, what if Sam were settled, and Dean went off on his own? Would they be as close without the fucked up things they’d lived through bonding them together? Were normal siblings this close? Sam didn’t have much to compare to, but he didn’t think so. Siblings might say they’d do anything for one another in theory, but he didn’t know of any others who’d actually died for each other, killed, sold their souls. 

“You think...you think we’d still be close?” Sam asked, putting all his focus into picking at the label of his beer. This was probably where Dean would roll his eyes and tell him to stop being such a girl, or sarcastically ask if Sam wanted a hug. For as intensely as they cared about each other, it just wasn’t the kind of thing they actually acknowledged, outside of life-or-death situations. 

Dean shifted a little, rolled his shoulders. A shadow of something like guilt passed over his face before it smoothed out into a smirk. 

“Well, I don’t know, depends. You think this alternate-universe you would be into golfing and NASCAR? Because I’m not sure I could get down with that, in any version of our lives.” 

Sam huffed a dutiful laugh and continued to pick at the beer label. Maybe Dean wasn’t too far off, it’s not like they really had much in common besides fighting monsters. Sam liked classic literature and knowledge for the sake of knowledge. He’d probably watch educational TV and go to museums for fun, rather than to steal haunted artifacts. There was no universe in which Dean would be into those things. No matter how they were raised he thought Dean would still be into cars and pool and poker. Maybe not for the sake of swindling suckers out of their money, but still, he’d always be a thrill seeker. 

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean’s soft tone pulled Sam from his thoughts, pulled his eyes up to meet his brother’s like a magnet. “You’d always be my brother. The details don’t matter.”

With that Dean cracked open another beer and grabbed the TV remote, flicking it on and flipping through channels at random. The classic signal of dismissal. 

Yeah, Sam thought. Maybe in a universe where souls weren’t traded like playing cards and the fate of the world didn’t rest on their shoulders, maybe things would be different. Maybe for the better in some ways, but maybe he’d miss this life in other ways. Like listening to Dean sing along to his stupid classic rock in the car, or sharing the satisfaction of a job well done, or thinking of ways to prank each other that would probably backfire spectacularly. But there’s no reason those moments couldn’t exist in any world. After all, they’d always be brothers.


End file.
